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By Chance or Purpose

Chapter 21: A Thousand Stars

by Shirebound

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October 23

Elrohir lifted Frodo’s head slightly and removed the pillow, laying him back down gently so that the hobbit was laying perfectly flat.  He pushed the chain aside, without touching the Ring, until the band of gold fell away from the small chest.  Meanwhile, Elladan was lighting a number of lamps, arranging them at intervals about the bed so that the small body was bathed in light.  When all was in readiness, Elrond positioned the knife at what looked to Sam to be the area between Frodo’s left shoulder and his heart, and began to cut.

Elrond cut deeper, then deeper still, his expression grave and intense.  With every movement of the Elf-lord’s knife, Sam shuddered and pressed back harder against Aragorn, as if he were feeling each cut.  He wished he could understand what Elrond and Glorfindel were saying to each other, but the words were in Elvish, and whisper-quiet.

There was almost no bleeding, but Elrond had not expected much.  Vilya’s power had slowed Frodo’s body functions to such a degree that the flesh and muscle were slow to react to the ever-deepening incision.

All at once the two Elf-lords stopped talking, and Elrond withdrew the knife and set it aside.  Elrohir handed him a pair of small, precise tongs, and Elrond slid the instrument deeply into the incision.  He stopped, his expression intense and focused, and Sam found that he was holding his breath.

With a sudden, quick motion, Elrond pulled the tongs out of the incision to reveal something small and black dangling from it.  Gandalf instantly moved to his side, and held out his right hand.  Elrond’s gaze met the wizard’s for a long moment before he released the shard into the wizard’s open palm.  Gandalf quickly turned and walked out onto the balcony through doors that Glorfindel had flung open.  A sudden flash of light, as intensely bright as the sun, flared for a moment, and then faded.  Gandalf returned, his hands now empty, and nodded once to Elrond.

“It is gone,” Gandalf said, his expression grave.  “Let us hope that no lingering evil remains within the wound.”

Elrond swabbed the deep incision with a cleansing herbal solution, then began suturing.  The needle, and the fiber threaded through it, were both so fine that Sam could scarcely perceive that the Elf-lord was holding anything at all.  Elrond completed his work and dropped the needle into the basin, then very gently pressed a soft pad of cloth to the sutured wound.  Glorfindel assisted him in winding a long strip of cloth about Frodo’s chest to keep the bandage in place.

“And now,” Elrond whispered, “let time resume its proper shape.”

The Elf-lord lay his right hand on Frodo’s chest and closed his eyes.  Slowly, carefully, Elrond channeled Vilya’s energy to reverse what he had done three nights before -- to now bring Frodo’s body functions back into a normal rhythm, with time once again resuming its pace.  A gentle, blue-white light emanated from his hand and radiated outward, enveloping Frodo in its radiance.  One minute passed in silence, then two.  Finally the glow faded, and Elrond moved his hand up to Frodo’s face and concentrated intently.

Sam was overjoyed to see Frodo’s breathing change from being so frighteningly slow to a normal rhythm, but the Elf-lord’s sudden frown froze his heart.

“What is it?” Glorfindel asked.

“I cannot sense him,” Elrond murmured.  “The Shadow drew him so far away, I can’t… seem to…”  He frowned harder.  “Where is he?”

“Were we too late?” Gandalf asked, alarmed.  “Perhaps I can---”

Aragorn abruptly stood up and moved quickly to the bed, then sat next to Frodo.  As if in a trance, he grasped the hobbit’s right hand in his own, and pressed his left to Frodo’s brow.  Elrond moved back, and for Aragorn, the room, Rivendell, and Middle-earth itself faded away as he called out into the darkness.

~*~

Frodo.

Frodo!

A name.  Was it his?

Hear me, little one!  You must come back to us, now.

Something parted the frozen, black void that had swallowed all awareness, all hope.  A warm, gentle light shone in the darkness.  A star, then two…

Can you hear me?  Frodo Baggins, come back!

A voice, familiar yet commanding, triggered a cascade of images, memories, awareness…

Follow my voice, Frodo.

Estel?

Frodo, you must try very hard to reach me.  Reach out and… ah, I’ve got you.

Don’t let me go… oh, I was so very far away!  I forgot… don’t let me forget again…

I’ve got you.  Come back…

Frodo felt someone gather up his fragments of self and it was warm and… oh! a thousand stars suddenly blazed around him, dissolving the darkness.  So bright… where are we?

“We are in Rivendell, Frodo, and Lord Elrond has eased your hurt.  You’re getting well.

~*~

Elrond watched thoughtfully as Frodo sighed, his small fingers curling around Aragorn’s -- the first movement the injured hobbit had made in three days.  The hobbit’s pale face was slowly regaining a healthier color, and his breathing was now deep and regular.

“Aragorn,” Elrond murmured, “don’t wake him entirely.  Leave him in a light sleep so that his body may recover.  He will wake on his own, when the time is right.”

Aragorn nodded that he understood.

It’s time to sleep a bit… a gentle sleep… follow me…

Will I ever wake up?

You will.  I promise that you will.

I couldn’t fight anymore, Estel.  I tried…

You tried, Frodo, and no one could have tried harder.  We’re so proud of you.  You have such strength, little one.  Do you remember?  Love gives us strength and courage when we need it most.

Oh, it’s so warm, I had forgotten it could be so warm.

You’re safe.  Relax now, that’s it… shhh… sleep… that’s it…

Aragorn slowly opened his eyes, feeling weak and dizzy, startled to find Frodo’s fingers entwined with his own.  Elrond touched Frodo’s brow and listened for a moment, then straightened and lay a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder.

“I did not teach you that,” Elrond said after a long silence.

“No.”  Aragorn stood up a bit unsteadily and faced his foster father.  “Frodo did.  Because of me, he fell ill just after we met.  He grew so weak…” Aragorn closed his eyes in pain, remembering.  “Something stirred within me, and I knew what to do to help him find his way back to us.”  Suddenly he turned to Gandalf, who had been regarding him thoughtfully.  “This is why you wanted me to be here.  Did you know this would happen?”

“I did not,” the wizard replied.  “I sensed that you needed to be present; that is all.  Your life, and Frodo’s, are interwoven, Aragorn; that much was clear to me when the two of you met.”

“Aragorn, sit down,” said Elrohir suddenly, alarmed by how pale his foster brother had become.

“I’m all right,” Aragorn said, although he let Elrohir lead him to a chair.  “This time was… more difficult than the last, that’s all.”  He looked up at Elrond.  “I think it was very close.”

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam whispered in awe, approaching the bed.  He could see that Frodo’s face had lost its deathly pallor, and he appeared to be in a peaceful sleep.  “Strider, is he gettin’ well, now?  At last?”

“Yes,” the Ranger reassured him, “at last.”

“We will need to watch for heat or swelling,” Elrond said gravely.  “The shard was deeply buried, and may have carried infection with it.”

At his father’s request, Elladan sat on the bed and gently pulled Frodo up against him into a sitting position, resting the hobbit’s head on his chest.  Elrond sat next to him and slid his left hand behind Frodo’s neck, tilting his head up slightly such that the lips parted.  He then held a small cup to Frodo’s mouth and dribbled in a tiny amount of liquid.  Frodo swallowed, and Elrond continued to administer small amounts of the liquid until the cup was empty.

“What’s that you’re givin’ him?”

“It is a restorative, Sam,” Elrond replied.  “I will give this to Frodo at intervals throughout the next few days, to help his body heal.”  He smiled.  “The taste is rather unpleasant; I suspect this is the only time he will take it so calmly.”

Elrond put the cup aside, then took the garment Elrohir held out to him.  He very gently slid a soft, cream-colored nightshirt over Frodo’s head, careful not to disturb the sutured shoulder, then carefully lifted the hobbit into his arms.  He was pleased to feel Frodo stir slightly and nestle against him.  The level of sleep into which Aragorn had guided him was light enough for the hobbit to be responsive, yet deep enough to be restful and healing.

“Samwise,” Elrond said, “I think Frodo should awaken in his own room, and not these healing chambers.  Wouldn’t you agree?”

“That’s wonderful, sir,” Sam said with a relieved smile, “purely wonderful.  When will he wake?”

“I cannot be certain, but I believe he should sleep through the night.”

“He’ll be mighty hungry by morning,” Sam grinned.

“He’s correct, Elrond,” Aragorn said with a smile.  They accompanied the Elf-lord to the room that had been set aside for Frodo.  “You had better ensure that there’s enough food in Rivendell.”

Elrond’s eyes twinkled as he lay Frodo gently in the waiting bed, and tucked several warm blankets around him.

“Thank you for what you did,” Sam whispered.

“Samwise,” Elrond said softly, “you are quite welcome.”

Sam sat cross-legged on the bed and took Frodo’s left hand.  “It’s not as cold,” he marveled.  “Will he be able to use his arm again?”

“I hope so,” Aragorn said.  “We won’t know until he wakes.”  He sat on Frodo’s right and lay his hand gently on the hobbit’s curls.  “You have such strength, little one,” he murmured, “such strength.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said softly.  “There’s folks for you to meet, and Mr. Bilbo’s here, sir!  And such a beautiful place, with gardens my Gaffer wouldn’t believe if he was standin’ right in front of ’em.”

As if he could hear it, Frodo turned his head slightly towards the calm, familiar voice.

“Everyone worked real hard to save you,” Sam continued, “and then Strider had to…” he suddenly fell silent.

Aragorn knew that Sam must be aching to talk about what he had seen and heard in the healing chamber, but never would.  He had promised.

Sam looked up at Aragorn, his eyes shining.  There was only one thing that truly needed to be said.

“Thank you, Strider.”

~*~

Aragorn and Sam both wished to remain at Frodo’s side during the night, and as Elrond left the room, he found his twin sons waiting for him in the corridor.

“Father,” Elrohir asked, “how did Aragorn do that?”

“And what did he do?” Elrohir added.

“He called Frodo back from the very brink of death,” Elrond replied quietly.  “Of that I have no doubt.  As for how he did it, I am not entirely certain.”  Elrond took a deep breath of the fragrant air and looked up at the glittering stars.  “His ancestor, Lúthien the Fair, was daughter of Elf and Maia.  She was a uniquely gifted healer, and pursued Beren to the very Halls of Mandos to plead for his life.”  He looked thoughtful.  “Aragorn carries this bloodline within him.  Perhaps this ability -- to guide back to the living world someone who no longer has the strength to find their way -- lay hidden and unguessed until there was great need.”

“Lúthien is our ancestor as well,” Elrohir reminded his father with a smile.

“Indeed she is,” Elrond agreed.  “You are both notable healers in your own right, and do your family great honor.  Perhaps abilities of which you as yet know nothing will make themselves known, at the proper time.  Such is the way of things.”  He smiled at his sons.  “Come, let us arrange for a meal to be brought to Aragorn and Samwise.  I suspect neither will sleep this night.”

“Perhaps we should ensure that there is adequate food,” Elladan chuckled.  “We now have five hobbits to feed.”

“Not to mention the new guests,” Elrohir added.  “Strange visitors are arriving from everywhere, it seems.  Something is happening, father.”

“Yes,” Elrond said thoughtfully.  “Much will soon be decided.”

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